


Detective Black

by filistinist, Jell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action, Angst, Crossdressing Kink, HP: EWE, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Sirius Black Lives, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-13 06:09:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9109987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filistinist/pseuds/filistinist, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jell/pseuds/Jell
Summary: The best professional investigator of anything whatsoever is always ready to come to your assistance...Draco goes missing. Private Investigator Sirius Black is hired to find him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Детектив Блэк](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/251632) by Jell. 



> Author's note: dedicated to Tau Mirta, whose prompt inspired this story.  
> Illustration to chapter 1, by morgul, is here:  
> http://fbhp.1gb.ru/2015/maxi_ill/Detektiv_Bljek_1.jpg
> 
> Translator's note: the story is complete. The translation will be posted one chapter at a time, every few days.

That day in the spring of 2003 had been warm since dawn. Street sounds were flying in through the wide-open window: the chatter of crowds on their way to work, the trilling of birds, the sleepy hooting of owls, the clatter of opening shutters and shop windows, the shouts of a newspaper boy... Sirius, who had slept through half the night in his office, stretched luxuriantly, yawned, and dropped his feet off the desk. There was a familiar prickle of discomfort in his back, which had stiffened from the awkward position. Sirius grabbed a decanter of slightly stale water and emptied it in three gulps, to wash down the bitter taste in his mouth. He glanced briefly at the clock—thirty minutes till nine. He could still apparate to Grimmauld Place and sleep for three hours or so. Sirius looked at the desk: he never did finish up those papers. A thick file from the Ministry archives was open right in the middle. His rest would have to wait; work would have to come first, since the file was supposed to have been returned yesterday.

Sirius sighed, rubbed his eyes, stood up, and walked over to the window. His office was on the third floor above Madam Malkin's shop, its windows facing what used to be Florian Fortescue's café. The poor man had been killed by Death Eaters, but literally a couple years later a tea shop opened in the same building, with Florian's niece as the owner. At the moment, the young hostess was going from table to table, setting out fresh flowers. If it wasn't for work, he would've definitely come down to wish her a good morning and ask for a cup of strong tea with a meringue pastry. As it was though, he just smiled from the window. She didn't even notice.

Sirius heard the front door slam and heels patter across the wooden floor—Pansy had arrived, and strangely enough, she wasn't even late. The thought of hiring a Slytherin would've never even entered Sirius's head—it was Harry who'd persuaded him, and he'd never regretted it since. Pansy was well-received in places where Sirius had not been welcome for a long time. She gathered rumors, knew all about the quarrels and connections in old wizarding families, and could easily tell you, without even a glance at any directory, who was married to whom and who was whose nephew or distant relative. Say what you will, she was a very useful staff member for a detective agency. Now if only she would stop trying to flirt with him...

There was a knock at his door, and Pansy stuck her head into his office:

“Sirius, you're already here?”

He turned around. She looked him over, clicked her tongue, and disappeared after announcing that she'll bring him coffee. Sirius patted down his hair, straightened his twisted-up shirt, and returned to his chair. The sooner he finished, the sooner he'd get free. After all, he was his own boss and had every right to take an unscheduled day off, or at least half a day.

A wizarding photo of Bellatrix was snarling from the pages of the report. Sirius kept getting the urge to stick his tongue out at his 'beloved' cousin, but he just sneered instead and turned the page, carefully reading the uneven lines of text. Interrogations, eyewitness testimony, investigator reports... But he wasn't fated to find out the details of the search at Lestrange Hall—the front door slammed and he heard Pansy's voice:

“I'm sorry, madam, you can't go in there! Mr. Black is wor...”

She was cut off abruptly, as if she was hit with a nonverbal Petrificus. Sirius snatched his wand from the table and was about to rush out into the reception room, but he didn't get far. The door opened a crack, and Pansy peered into his office. She seemed a bit embarrassed.

“Sirius, I'm sorry...”

“Everything alright?” he interrupted.

She nodded.

“Yes. You have a visitor. Without a prior appointment.”

“Then why are you letting them in?”

Pansy sniffed, opened the door, and stepped aside. A lady made her way gracefully into the room. She wore long robes trimmed in black fur, glittering gold rings on her gloved fingers, and a broad-brimmed black hat with a veil. After taking a few steps, the lady stopped, turned to Sirius, and lifted her veil.

“Narcissa!”

“I'll make you that coffee after all.” Pansy shut the door behind herself.

“Sirius... cousin.” Narcissa gave him a crooked smile, and held out her hand, as if for a kiss.

Sirius shook it.

Something very strange was happening. For Narcissa to come to his office, just like that? She detested the very idea of a 'descendant of ancient blood' working as an 'errand boy'. When they had run into each other in Diagon Alley, she'd snorted something about 'the shame of the family' and suggested that he should sort out his own inheritance instead of working for mudbloods.

“Are you here on business or is this a social call?”

“Just business,” she drawled.

“Have a seat.”

Narcissa took exception to the visitor's chair, and her scowl deepened, but she did sit down, drawing up the long skirt of her robes. Sirius returned to his side of the desk.

“I'll hear you out, but mark my words, I'm not especially eager to help you. Unless you'd like to chuck your mangy peacock and leave him high and dry.”

Narcissa narrowed her eyes at him irritably.

“I wasn't planning to. Why, are you still hoping to get your hands on him yourself? To pick up the poor destitute thing on the rebound, warm him up at your bosom?”

“Oh, sure, it's all I ever dream of. I'll build him a chicken coop in my back garden.”

“You mean you'll move into a kennel by his house.”

Narcissa crossed one leg over the other and gave him a wide grin. Sirius had thought that she had no clue of his old affair with Lucius. How was Malfoy even alive after that particular revelation? From what Sirius could tell, Narcissa had a heavy hand, or rather wand, and the jinxes she knew were exceptionally unpleasant and hard to remove.

“Have you come to have a row?”

“I'm not the one who brought up Lucius. But you're right, I'm not here to quarrel. I'll get to business.” She sighed, winced, fidgeted with the folds of her robes. “I want you to find Draco.”

“Why, what's happened to him?”

“He's run off, disappeared... He hasn't been home since last evening.”

That was unusual, but in a way also predictable.

“It's only been twelve hours? And you're already worried? He's not a helpless infant, now is he? Knowing what's been going on with you lot, I'm not surprised that he's made himself scarce.”

Narcissa's chin jerked up weirdly.

“It's Draco we're talking about. You know perfectly well—we are constantly getting threats. If he doesn't want to come back home, fine, but I need to know that he's safe.”

“Have you checked with Harry?”

A spasm crossed Narcissa's face.

“No.”

“What, did you and Draco have an argument?”

“Not me. He threw his father a tantrum, as usual.”

“More like the other way around,” Sirius smirked.

Narcissa's shoulder twitched but she said nothing.

“Very well. What have we got then—the boy argued with his father over Harry and ran off to the same, as he'd done about a dozen times before. Seems to me like there's nothing to worry about.”

“Yes, he'd run off before, but always sent a note that he was alright. But not this time.”

“I bet daddy dearest has driven him to the point where he doesn't even want to think about the two of you. I can understand him perfectly. But since you're so worried, fine, when I see him at Harry's, I'll let you know.”

“And what if he's not at Potter's?”

“Then I'll do my best to find him... _Lucius_.”

With these words, Sirius raised his wand sharply and aimed it at Malfoy.

“I'm not...” he twitched, as if he wanted to pull out his want as well.

“I don't suggest you make any sudden movements. After the Ark my nerves are a bit jittery, you know.”

Lucius opened his mouth, closed it again, grimaced.

“How did you work it out, you bastard?”

“Cissy has never pulled such faces in her life, unlike you. I'm tempted to keep you here for a while, to see how you'd look in a ladies' robe and hat. I think it would suit you.”

Malfoy snorted, but left that without any other comment. Sirius was disappointed—it's been a while since he'd had a chance to meet with his favorite opponent one on one and have a proper row, ignoring any sideways glances aimed at them. Nettling Malfoy has always been a special, dangerous pleasure, and Sirius had been missing it.

“In future, I don't suggest you use Polyjuice, Lucius. You're hopeless as an actor.”

“Thanks for the advice. I'll try to keep it in mind and limit myself to using Imperio.”

“Yes, if you'd be so kind. Azkaban should help you lose the habit of going about in ladies clothing.”

“Well, you would know.” Lucius smiled nastily with Narcissa's lips.

“Why the masquerade? Did you want to get closer to me? Were you hoping for something?”

“ _Blaaack_.” Lucius's drawl was so familiar that it sent a chill down his back. “Not everything revolves around your person. The only thing I wanted was to find out where Draco is.”

“You thought that I would be likely to help Narcissa, as opposed to you?”

“It's harder to refuse a lady, especially one who's your cousin, and a concerned mother.”

Sirius smirked—there wasn't much difference between Lucius and Narcissa, as far as he was concerned. If one was a snake, then the other was a poisonous viper.

“She would have come herself if she'd known of Draco's disappearance,” continued Lucius. “But I didn't want to worry her, as she's in Europe right now anyhow.”

“And especially since it's your own fault that your child disappeared.”

“Black...” Lucius clenched his teeth. “The joke is over. You must understand: Draco is aware of the whole situation. We've had misunderstandings before, but he always—always!—let me know that he was alright, almost right away.”

“Always?”

“Yes. No matter what had happened between us. After all, he's smart enough to understand how these things could turn out!”

There was a cold anger in Narcissa's eyes, but at the same time, also genuine panic. Malfoys did not panic. Lucius did not panic. And he didn't do stupid things, such as visiting his old opponent in ladies' clothing.

“Fine, like I said, I'll ask Harry. Just don't expect me to return the young man home, if he doesn't want to come.”

“I'll sort that part out myself.”

Sirius had no doubt that he _would_ sort it out. It wasn't the first time that Draco had a horrible row with his father and ran off to Harry, but somehow Lucius always managed to find the right approach to his offspring, and after two or three days he would always return home. Harry really knew how to pick them, honestly!

He lowered his wand; Lucius relaxed slightly. Sirius wondered—was it only Narcissa's robe that he'd put on, or maybe her underthings as well? Silk stockings, a lace garter... Sirius reigned in his imagination and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Despite the wide-open window, the room seemed to get hotter.

“I'll write you,” Sirius said.

“I'll be waiting.”

After Lucius left, Sirius realized that they'd spoken calmly for more than five minutes. They hadn't even shouted at each other like they usually did. Must be some kind of record.

A gust of wind burst in through the window and jumbled the papers on his desk. It flipped through the pages of the report, opening them right to the interrogation of Mr. Lucius Malfoy. Everything that day seemed to be coming up Malfoy—a bad omen. Sirius snapped the file shut. He better talk to Harry first—if Draco was with him, he could toss all these sodding Malfoys right out of his head without a second thought.


	2. Chapter 2

There was no answer from Harry's fireplace. That was to be expected—it was Thursday, Harry was at work, and if Draco was hiding at his place, he wouldn't be answering firecalls. Sirius could've waited until evening, but he wanted to sort this business out as soon as possible. The less he saw of Lucius, the better. So he decided to stop by the Ministry right away. If he was lucky, Harry would be at his post, busy with the usual parchment-pushing as he scribbled his much-hated reports, or discussing the latest Quidditch match with Ron.

After his miraculous return, Sirius was offered a job at the Auror division or anywhere else in the DMLE, but he refused. This type of life was not for him. Too much bureaucracy, too many bosses and rules. It was so much better to be doing the same thing, while still keeping your freedom. And much more interesting too—if Harry's stories about his job were to be believed, Sirius would have died of boredom in his place. With the inheritance he'd got from his favorite uncle, he'd been able to buy a few rooms for an office in a good location and put out an ad, and from there, he let the rumors do the work of building his reputation.

Strangely enough, there had never been a magical private investigator in Britain before. Wizards took their issues either directly to the Ministry, or, in more delicate cases, to their friends or former schoolmates. So they were wary of Sirius at first. The Order of Merlin and effusive news coverage notwithstanding, it was hard for the magical world to get used to the idea that Sirius Black, the perennial boggart of years past, was not actually a criminal. But gradually people began to trust him. Eventually, his small clientele, mostly composed of Harry's acquaintances, was supplemented by people, and even creatures, that he'd never met before.

Sirius came down to the Auror division and looked around for Harry in the bullpen. He found him sitting at his desk, scratching behind his ear with his quill, and staring off into space with a tormented look in his eyes. Just as he'd suspected—he was composing his latest report. Sirius made his way between tightly packed desks, hovered over Harry, and said loudly:

“Hi.”

Harry's head jerked up and he smiled.

“Sirius! What are you doing here?”

“Let's go to the cafeteria, we need to have a chat.”

Harry tossed his quill aside.

Sirius turned around, and almost knocked an unfamiliar Auror off his feet. The man rubbed his bruised shoulder, threw him an ill-tempered glare from under his fringe, and advised him to be more careful. As he turned away, he also added something under his breath, so that Sirius didn't hear him. If Sirius hadn't been in a hurry, he would've definitely asked the Auror to repeat his words a bit louder, but he didn't want to get into it in front of Harry.

The cafeteria was empty for now—it was too late for breakfast and too early for lunch. The only people there were some girls who sat by an artificial window with a garden view, and chatted with each other quietly. Harry got coffee for the both of them, and Sirius was happy to accept, as Pansy somehow never got around to making him one.

“Did you finish going through that file? Mary is starting to give me the stink-eye.”

“Sorry, Harry, I didn't have a chance. I swear I'll finish it today, but right now I have more important business.”

“What's happened?”

“When was the last time you saw Draco?”

Harry frowned.

“Saw him—the day before yesterday, in the evening, when he was getting ready to go home. Heard him—yesterday morning. We were making plans to meet after work, but he didn't show up.”

“Has that happened before?”

Sirius was frantically trying to think of any other place where Draco could have gone. His old school friends? His mother? Hogwarts? No, in any of those cases Lucius would have known all about it by now. A tiny chill ran down his back.

“A couple of times, when his father managed to ruin our plans, but Draco always got in touch with me the next morning, to explain. But not today.”

“This morning Lucius showed up,” said Sirius. Harry clenched his jaw. “He asked me to find Draco.”

Harry scowled for a couple of seconds, staring sightlessly at the table in front of him. Then the corner of his mouth twitched.

“That bastard! He's done it after all!”

“Bastard? You mean Lucius?”

“Who else... Draco used to say that his father wouldn't even stop at an Imperio, if it wasn't for the restrictions on his wand. He must have come up with something, and hid Draco.”

“And to draw suspicion away from himself, he asked me to find him.”

“Yeah. Otherwise, why would he be asking you, of all people?”

“And just because of that, you think that Lucius is responsible for Draco's disappearance?”

“Draco definitely didn't run away, otherwise he would've gone straight to me. He's done that several times before. Even if he was hiding somewhere, he would've let me know, for sure.”

“But in the past, didn't he always tell his parents where to find him, too?” Harry winced and nodded. “And no squabble could keep him with you for long. Sooner or later he always came back home, didn't he?”

“Well... he loves his mother, and his father, too, to be honest. Although I can't imagine what's there to love in that bastard. One time, he happened to see me and Draco. Well, you know... He pretended like I wasn't even there, but the stuff he said to Draco! Uncle Vernon could take tips from him!”

Sirius chuckled. What Harry was saying did make a certain amount of sense—Lucius was perfectly capable of pulling something like that, but to impersonate Narcissa while he was at it? No, something here wasn't adding up. In any case, it would be worthwhile to visit Malfoy Manor.

“He could've been abducted, or...” Sirius decided not to mention murder. “The Malfoys were constantly getting threats.”

“They've been getting them for five years, and nothing. Just a couple attempts, and even those were a long time ago. No, we need to check out Lucius!” Harry rose from the table. “I'm off to Malfoy Manor. I'll smoke that reptile out.”

“I'm with you.” Sirius shot to his feet. “I promised to start an investigation if you didn't know where Draco was.”

“Yes, an investigation... that's good. And I'm hoping that we won't have to look far.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

After his return, Sirius had run away from St Mungo's without waiting to be discharged. He was dead tired of the nurses cooing and making eyes at him, and of the mediwizards examining him like a lab rat. As soon as they'd left Sirius unattended, he transformed into Padfoot and ran off into the streets of London, and from there to Grimmauld Place. And the first person he ran into in his own house turned out to be Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, in nothing but a towel on his hips and a half-eaten apple in his hand. They stared at each other for a considerably long time, and then Draco shrugged, smiled, and said:

“Good evening, Uncle, have they released you already?”

Sirius had not been prepared for the possibility that his beloved godson would start keeping a Malfoy spawn of his very own. No, honestly, he couldn't find anyone else to be 'friends' with? The entire history of that rotten family was confirmation of the fact that the Malfoys were two-faced, lying crooks, to whom betrayal came just as naturally as smirking, dancing, and fucking. And Sirius told Harry something to that effect as soon as he'd come rushing home. And obviously, Harry did not listen to him. What did he expect? Once upon a time Sirius himself refused to listen to his uncle's words, and had the opportunity to get his fill of a Malfoy's true nature. Later on, however, after learning more about their relationship, he had to admit that Harry was right. No matter how much Draco resembled his father externally, he had not, fortunately, inherited his personality.

Draco may not have been the best match for Harry, but the happiness shining in his godson's eyes was the most important thing. And Sirius would not allow anyone to tear them apart.

As a 'person of heightened untrustworthiness', Lucius was forced to keep his fireplace open for the Aurors, and now Harry took advantage of this. He dragged Sirius through with him. They flew through so quickly that the fireplace grates they passed became a grey blur, and literally fell out of the fireplace and onto the stone floor of Malfoy Manor's entrance hall. Harry didn't even bother straightening his clothes—he just leapt to his feet and ran up the stairs. Sirius could barely keep up with him. They'd barely made it to the second floor when Harry practically crashed into Lucius, who was coming towards them.

“Mr Potter...” Lucius took a step back.

“What have you done to Draco?”

An unfamiliar expression flickered briefly over Lucius's face, but he quickly narrowed his eyes and put on a look of cold, disdainful fury, as he always did when dealing with Harry.

“Perhaps I should be asking you that question?”

“If I knew where he was, I wouldn't bother hiding it! I can protect him even from you.”

“It seems that our positions are a bit unequal, don't you think? Seeing how I'm actually _not_ able to protect my son from _you_.”

“You wouldn't need to, from me... but you...” Harry drew himself up. “As an employee of the Auror Division, it's fully within my rights to conduct a search. If he's here, confess, and I _just might_ not mention any violations to the oversight committee.”

“Potter, I'm not that much of an idiot, to try to hide my son from his... Auror, regardless of what I think of you. Go ahead, search! If you find him, I'll be the first to thank you, but he's not here!”

There was so much despair breaking through that final 'not here' that Sirius almost believed him, in spite of himself.

“Sirius, will you help?”

“Of course.”

Lucius shrugged, and without saying another word, disappeared behind the door of his study. As he was leaving, he threw Sirius a piercing glance.

To look for someone who already lived in that house—it wasn't the easiest task. Sirius often relied on his sense of smell, but here it was practically useless. All of Malfoy Manor was already permeated with Draco's scent. The newer and older smells were mixed together, and it was almost impossible to sort out that convoluted tangle. Even the dungeons, where Harry checked first, were saturated with Draco's scent, but there it felt old, vague.

“He's not here,” announced Sirius, back in his human form.

“Obviously. Lucius knew it's the first place anyone would search. Let's go to the attic... or the garden. The library! There must be secret rooms here. If something's happened to Draco, I'll personally rip Lucius's head off.”

“I'll hold him down while you do it, but let's find the evidence first. Let's go back to the hall, the scent was the freshest there.”

Fortunately, not much time had passed. Sirius walked around the spacious hall, went up the stairs. He wasn't tracking the scent as much as checking his impressions—nothing out of the ordinary. He turned back into Padfoot and went over the same route one more time. Lucius, Draco, Draco, Lucius—the similar yet distinct smells mingled into a common cocktail. Draco's scent, despite being old, was coming through very clearly. It seemed like he'd been sweating... ran down the stairs, rushed to the fireplace, and vanished. He'd left and never came back since. Or at least never came back to this hall. Sirius came to a stop by the fireplace and turned back to human.

“Draco left. He was alone and in a big hurry.”

“To Potter's,” came Lucius's voice from above. He was standing over them, leaning on the bannister. “I heard Draco shout the address.”

“What time was that?” asked Harry. He looked perplexed.

“About five in the afternoon.”

“Maybe he didn't pronounce the address clearly enough?” Sirius ran a finger over the mantel—not a single speck of dust. “By the way, where do you keep your Floo powder?”

“In my study.”

“You wanted to control Draco's communications,” said Harry, flashing an angry glance at Lucius, who only shrugged:

“I was concerned for my son! But his stubbornness negates all my efforts.”

“That was a very stupid idea, Malfoy. Maybe that's exactly why Draco disappeared. Don't you think he could have been handed some fake Floo, and now he's an ash stain smeared over all the fireplaces in the network?”

Actually, Sirius didn't think this was the case, nor had he ever heard of any such incident, but, judging by how tightly he clutched at the bannister, he'd scared Lucius.

“I can't just calmly watch as my child destroys his own life!”

“And that's why you decided to destroy it yourself, Mr Malfoy?”

“Why, you...” Lucius's eyes lit up dangerously.

Under different circumstances, Sirius would have definitely backed up his godson, but now something else was more important.

“You can point fingers later, let's get to business. Malfoy, did you two argue in your study?”

“Yes.”

“After which Draco lost his temper, rushed out into the hall, threw some powder into the fireplace, and vanished. The usual?”

“If that happened, I didn't see it. I just heard Draco yell—purposefully loud!—yell Potter's address.”

“And where he got the powder—you didn't see that either?”

“No.”

“Harry, were you home yesterday at that time?”

“No. But I have a house elf, he would have told me if he'd seen Draco.”

“Good... We'll go over your house later. Now let's check Malfoy's study.”

“What for?” Lucius grimaced.

“We'll look for clues. Maybe you conked your son over the head with a poker, panicked, Levicorpused him into the fireplace, and sent him off Merlin knows where.”

“That's ridiculous!”

Harry blanched and stared at Lucius with even more hatred, if that was even possible.

“If something's happened to Draco...”

Lucius gave him an icy glare and walked firmly towards his study, throwing the door wide open, as if to demonstrate that he had nothing to hide.

In the study, a strong fragrance of Firewhiskey hung in the air, and an opened bottle stood on the desk, next to a glass and an empty potions phial. Calming draught, Sirius realised after another sniff.

“Mixing alcohol with potions is not recommended,” Harry muttered as he looked around.

“Really? You don't say!” Lucius halted by the door, as if he considered bolting.

Sirius turned into Padfoot and inhaled the scent. No, it didn't smell like murder here. But an argument—yes. Porcelain and glass dust, as if something's been broken, blood... and not Draco's, actually, but Lucius's... sweat... He ran around the table. The smell of blood grew stronger—there were a few drops by Lucius's chair. And nothing else. There was a barely perceptible smell of burning. Maybe that was just Lucius lighting the fireplace—the coals in it were still warm.

“I wonder, what could you have possibly said to Draco to make him hit you?” Sirius asked casually as he got to his feet.

Lucius went pale and clenched his fists.

“How could you even think of such a thing! My son would never lift his hand to hurt me! He's not you.”

“I never hit my parents either, regardless of whatever it was they said. So then where did the blood come from?”

“I cut myself.” Lucius turned at the sound of knocking at the window.

There was a raven sitting on the window sill, with something tied to its leg. Sirius let it in without waiting for permission.

“Hold on to it, Harry,” he asked and quickly untied the package.

The raven started beating its wings, but Harry was holding it tightly, not letting it peck him. The package was light and smelled of Draco, blood, and mud.

“What's in there?” Harry asked, struggling to hold on to the flapping bird.

“Give me that!” Lucius's face twisted as he snatched the package from Sirius's hands. He removed the parchment, glanced over it, and went even more pale.

With shaking hands, he unwrapped the bundle attached to the letter, and collapsed into a chair. The bundle contained a human finger.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry was the first one to snap out of it—when the raven twisted around, pecked him, and shot out the still-open window. He drew out his wand, covered the finger with a handkerchief right on the desk where it lay, and conjured a pile of crushed ice on top of it. It was a muggle technique, completely unnecessary normally, but indispensable if the finger had been hacked off by dark magic. In all other cases, lost limbs could be regrown with potions.

Sirius tore the note out of Lucius's limp hand. The letters were cut out from a newspaper and glued onto the parchment in neat, precise rows. It smelled of fresh newsprint ink, cheap glue, and blood. Sirius winced.

_In an hour. The old house of the Lord. If anything goes wrong you only have yourself to blame. Start flailing around and we cut something more substantial off your boy._

“What is it talking about?” Sirius asked.

Malfoy didn't answer, just bit his lips and stared out the window sightlessly.

“I'm getting the Aurors,” said Harry.

“No!” Malfoy jumped up. “Potter, if my son is in any way at all dear to you, you will not go anywhere.”

“But we can't just leave it!”

“I'll sort it all out myself. Sit down!”

Malfoy's hands were shaking.

“Leave off! Draco is not your property, he's my... Bloody hell, I love him!” Nevertheless, Harry stood still.

“Yes, yes. Just shut up.”

“And why should I even...”

“Quit it, both of you!” Sirius came up to Harry and put his hands on his shoulders, trying to calm him down. “Malfoy, tell us what's going on. What do they want from you?”

“You read it yourself. They want me to come. It's not the first such note, Potter can confirm that, only the first with...” He sank into a chair heavily.

“And why do they need you so badly?”

“Take a guess. Payback, I'm thinking.”

“So it's just your former mates amusing themselves?”

Malfoy drew himself up indignantly and glanced sideways at Harry.

“Possibly. Our heroic Aurors have yet to catch them all, despite the information I provided. I wonder why?”

“Maybe because someone is covering up for them?” Harry returned his glare.

“You of all people know, Mr Potter, how much I've done to put these people in Azkaban. And now because of your unprofessionalism...”

“Or maybe because you drove your son up the wall so bad, Mr Malfoy, that he forgot all caution?”

Malfoy clenched his teeth.

“I...”

“Or” interrupted Sirius, “maybe you were working for both sides, as usual? Covering up for your mates, while at the same time informing for the Aurors so that some small fry were captured? Spun lies to both sides, and now your son has to pay for it.”

Judging by Malfoy's facial expression, Sirius wasn't that far off.

“That's not true! After everything that's happened, you think I would help that scum?”

“You?” Sirius raised an eyebrow. “I haven't a single doubt. But this isn't about your dirty deeds, Malfoy. We haven't got any time for accusations. We need to decide what to do.”

Sirius would have been more than happy to argue some more, to get a rise out of Malfoy, but now wasn't the time. In the two years that he'd been an investigator, he'd come to understand quite well that sometimes it was a matter of life and death to quit the back-and-forth and focus on essentials. Like now, for example.

“We can't go to the Aurors. I can promise you, they've had a rat planted among them for quite a while, and if anything goes wrong, they'll kill Draco. My house and fireplace are most likely being watched.”

“Then they must know that you're not alone in the house,” Sirius said.

“If they know, then let's go together,” suggested Harry. He was pacing up and down the room, clenching and unclenching his fists, and was clearly ready to jump to Draco's rescue right that instant.

“I have no intention of risking my son. I'll go alone... Mordred! It won't help,” he hissed and jumped to his feet.

“Exactly.”

“Harry, call Kreacher, make him bring you the Invisibility Cloak. I'll turn into Padfoot, we'll hide under the cloak and follow Malfoy.”

“They'll be expecting you.”

“Well, they don't exactly know what we're capable of, do they.” Harry smiled grimly and snapped his fingers.

Kreacher appeared, listened to his request, and vanished.

Malfoy turned to face the window and wrapped his arms around himself. Sirius could have sworn that Malfoy knew something he wasn't saying, but he doubted that he could shake the details out of him right then. But what if... what if this trap wasn't for Malfoy at all, but for Harry? Sirius came up to Malfoy and squeezed his shoulder—he flinched, but didn't turn around. Sirius leant down to his ear.

“If anything happens to my godson, you'll be sorry you hadn't snuffed it together with your Lord.”

Malfoy twitched indignantly and hissed in a half-whisper:

“I don't give a damn about your whelp. My son is in danger. If you can't make your idiotic godson stay away from this business, that's your problem, not mine. So don't you dare put this on me, that I have to worry about him on top of everything else!”

His eyes looked utterly ill. Sirius gripped his wand a little tighter.

“We have to come up with a plan,” said Harry. “Judging by the note, you're supposed to know the meeting place very well, Malfoy.”

“Very well? No. But I do know it. It's talking about the Riddle house. You can imagine what kind of place it is. Have you never been there?”

“Somehow I never got the chance. I'll have Kreacher pass the note on to the Aurors...”

“And have my son maimed as a result! Potter, stop acting like an idiot! Can you promise me that this note won't end up with their rat?”

“I trust my people...”

“Excellent, you're the spitting image of your father—he trusted a rat, too! You know perfectly well that everyone has their weak spot. Even the most honest person can be persuaded, if he's afraid for the lives of his loved ones. So no—no Aurors!”

“Then I can write to Ron and Kingsley—they're definitely not involved with Death Eaters.”

“And of course, they won't wag their tongues.”

“If I ask them...”

“Each extra person is an added risk for Draco. I don't want to know what else they might cut off him!” Malfoy was beginning to sway unsteadily on his feet. Sirius sat him down in a chair and handed him a glass of water.

“Believe me, I'm worried for Draco's life and safety no less than...” Harry grumbled, and turned away. He looked offended.

Kreacher appeared again and, with a bow, handed Harry the Invisibility Cloak.

“By the way, we could ask Kreacher to help us.”

“Right. That's all we need, a deranged house elf!” exclaimed Malfoy.

That argument could have gone on forever. Sirius snapped his fingers, sending Kreacher home—regardless of the magic house elves might possess, it was not a good idea to rely on them in a serious situation. Their minds were too foreign to humans.

“Why don't you suggest something yourself, then!” said Harry.

“We'll go to the Riddle house, I'll distract the kidnappers, you'll find Draco, apparate with him to a safe place, and call the Aurors. That's the whole plan.” Malfoy closed his eyes.

“But... but... they'll kill you.”

“As if that really worries you, Potter.”

Sirius didn't believe a single word coming out of Malfoy's mouth. Altruism was not in his nature, even if it had to do with his son. Malfoy must have an ace or two up his sleeve—some illegal Portkey, some secret artefact, or... or he was simply planning to exchange his son for Harry. Because Draco?... Other than his parents and Harry, no one cared about him. But Harry Potter himself—that was a different matter. With him, they could blackmail the Minister of Magic, even the entire Ministry.

Sirius recalled Lucius's omissions, the text of the letter... It really did seem that his guess was right—they wanted Harry to show up. And that meant they needed to change their game plan. Sirius had no doubt that Draco really had been abducted, but he didn't want his godson involved in this. Sirius whipped out his wand and knocked Harry out with a non-verbal Petrificus.

“Black!” Malfoy sprang to his feet. “What are you doing?”

“Hopefully saving Harry's life. As for your son, you and I will be saving his life together.”


	5. Chapter 5

The Riddle house looked long-abandoned. There was no glass in any of the windows. Half of the roof was covered in moss, while the other half had collapsed altogether. The doors had been broken down and lay on the ground near the entrance. The plaster was chipping off the walls and there was a small tree growing on the balcony. It was unpleasantly quiet. Even the noise from the village nearby didn't reach here, as if the village had died out, too.

Malfoy was clearly nervous. He kept straightening his clothes and looking around, as if hoping to catch sight of Sirius, who was under the Invisibility Cloak. Sirius had the urge to kick him, so that he wouldn't waste time, and to make him look alive.

Sirius was feeling a little guilty about the way he'd treated Harry. Before his return from the Archway, it would've never even occurred to him to do something like that. To deprive a friend of an adventure was almost like a betrayal. The Sirius of _before_ used to think that facing danger was the only way to truly feel alive. But after that grey nothingness, what he wanted most was to keep the people he loved away from it for as long as possible. And Harry more than anyone.

Sirius was sure that this trap was set up specifically for Harry. Malfoy wouldn't bat an eyelash before sacrificing him, much less exchanging him for his own son. Sirius wouldn't have put it past him to arrange something like this on purpose, to get rid of his son's lover once and for all. Although... it wasn't likely. Whatever else he was, Lucius would never let a hair fall from his son's head, not to mention cutting off a finger.

Malfoy walked into the graffiti-covered entrance hall, looked around, and headed up the stairs. Sirius followed him, trying to walk as quietly as possible. The Invisibility Cloak was a little short on him. He had to bend down a little and slouch so as not to give himself away. It would have been easier as a dog, and he could have got his bearings using smell, but he couldn't rely on the kidnappers not knowing that he was an Animagus, and dragging the cloak around in that form was just too uncomfortable.

The stairs up to the third floor were blocked by the collapsed ceiling. Malfoy looked around again and confidently turned right, in the direction indicated by an arrow painted on the wall. Sirius sniffed the air—it smelled like stale dirt and rubbish. Other than Malfoy's footsteps, he heard nothing, as if no one had been there for many years. Was the meeting off? Or did Malfoy lie?

There was a clatter downstairs, as if someone slammed a door on the floor below. Malfoy stopped and took out his wand; he stood listening for a few moments. Sirius looked back the way they'd come—no one there. The floor creaked under his foot, sounding especially loud in the thick silence. Malfoy started, then froze, listening. The wand in his hand vibrated slightly. Something clattered again downstairs—then silence once more. Like the wind playing with a loose shutter. Maybe that's exactly what it was. Malfoy stood still for a bit more, then exhaled, took a step...

The floor gave way with a loud crunch, carrying Malfoy below. Sirius lunged forward, trying to grab him, but the floorboards under his feet slid apart, and Sirius went down after him. They fell down three floors and crashed onto a pile of soft rubbish in the basement. Sirius banged his back slightly on something solid, and in the same moment, the hideous smell of blood and human excrement invaded his nose. There was a buzzing in his head from the fall, and he felt nausea crawling up his throat.

Malfoy had fallen a little less awkwardly—he slid down the side of the pile and shot to his feet. He was looking around, but the hole in the ceiling didn't let in enough light to make anything out. Sirius straightened his spine and tried to get up. His foot slid over something slimy, and he felt a wet sponginess under his hands. He didn't even want to think about what it might be—he was barely holding back the nausea as it was. He groped for the Invisibility Cloak where it lay half off him and shoved it into his pocket. The last thing he needed was to lose it in this place.

“Black, are you alright?” Malfoy asked, and lifted his wand. “Lumos!”

The small bright ball of light seemed reluctant to emerge. It tried to disperse the darkness, but only managed to illuminate Malfoy himself, barely. His hair was smeared with something dark and streaks of blood ran down his face and neck, staining his collar red. Malfoy took one wide-eyed look at Sirius, turned away, and vomited into the red puddle on the floor. Sirius couldn't hold back this time either—he was lying on a pile of blood-soaked rags.

What the fuck happened here? He didn't even want to imagine it. After catching his breath, he got up and joined Malfoy.

“It's a trap.”

The other man just shook his head, wiped his lips, and whispered—Sirius could barely hear him:

“Find out... Sniff out, for Morgana's sake... if he's there... if Draco...”

At first, Sirius didn't understand what he was talking about, then he turned around and...

“Merlin...”

Further on, past the pile of rags, stood something like an altar inside a magical circle. A huge cauldron lay on top of it, and around it were scattered the remains of human bodies. Bones, arms, legs, heads with empty eye sockets and gaping toothless mouths. Men, women... children. Sirius threw up again.

“Check it!” Malfoy barely waited for him to pull himself together before he squeezed his shoulder urgently.

Sirius wasn't sure he wanted to do this, but Malfoy was right. It was better... better to know. Sirius turned into Padfoot. The nauseating odour became stronger; he really didn't want to smell it in any more detail. He barely stopped himself from whimpering. He couldn't understand what had happened here. Did someone try to perform a Dark ritual? Was that why they'd abducted Draco? It seemed a bit too extreme, even for the bloodthirsty Middle Ages. The unbearable stench was battering at his nose. Sirius breathed in, trying to isolate Draco Malfoy's own particular scent in that cacophony of smells. At first, he couldn't make sense of anything, it all mingled together into one whole intolerable stink, but then... The familiar scent was barely discernible, but once he caught it, Sirius would not lose it. His hackles rose, and he barely controlled himself as he loped over to the altar. Malfoy followed him slowly.

Sirius could almost hear Malfoy's heart beating faster and faster with each step. His fear, his growing horror, was becoming more and more obvious. He probably cared nothing for all these other victims, but his own son was a different matter. Malfoy pinched his nose shut, and Sirius envied him a little. The reek was becoming stronger, and fouler, and he could barely sense Draco's scent in it.

Before he could get any closer, Malfoy rushed forward and crouched over a corpse, mucking his robes in the puddles of blood. The corpse had short blond hair, and Sirius's heart clenched. Draco's smell was coming from that spot, but it was so weak, almost as if...

“It's not Draco,” said Lucius softly. “But this is his wand.” He picked up the wand lying on top of the body and rose to his feet.

Sirius turned back to human, and was finally able to hold his nose closed.

“We need to call the Aurors,” he said.

“We need to find my son first.”

There was a crash above their heads, then the stomping of rushing feet, as if a whole troop of people just burst into the building. Sirius looked around—there was a door in the furthest corner.

“The exit,” he yelled as he ran there.

The stomping almost faded away at first, then became louder as it drew closer. Malfoy yanked at the door, but it didn't yield. He sprang to the side, put out the Lumos and pointed his wand. Sirius took his place on the other side. Whoever was coming, they weren't likely to be friends.

The door flew open from a blow. The first man in was flung aside by Malfoy's Reducto. Sirius backed him up by stunning the next man, and only then saw their Auror badges and robes in the Lumos lights of those coming behind. But he had no time to do anything—the Aurors slammed Malfoy into the wall with a triple Stupefy, and Sirius crashed to the floor, Petrified.


	6. Chapter 6

They turned out to be real Aurors, a group of ten operatives. From what Sirius could remember, a squad of that size was usually dispatched to destroy or, in case of a favourable outcome, arrest a small group of Dark wizards.

The Aurors were clearly not rookies—even the sight of the dismembered bodies didn't disconcert them. They wandered between the puddles of blood and waved their wands, casting diagnostic and stasis charms over everything. One of them even peered inside the cauldron.

Malfoy and Sirius were handcuffed and forced to sit by the wall. Judging from the fact that Malfoy was still not moving, he hadn't yet recovered. His breathing was hoarse and uneven.

“What do you think?” said the Senior Auror—Sirius didn't know his name—as he stood in the centre of the room and looked around glumly.

“All signs point to an ancient magical ritual, but they didn't have time to finish it,” someone answered.

“Which one?”

“Don't know yet. We have a few theories, but it'd be better if the experts verified it.”

“Definitely,” nodded the Senior Auror. “But since we don't know which ritual it was, what makes you think it wasn't finished?”

“You can see it,” shouted the Auror who was examining the cauldron. “The ingredients are here, but they had no time to use them. But it looks like they would have if it weren't for us.”

If Sirius had been able to talk, he would have objected, but unfortunately, they hadn't left him this ability.

“And you're sure that these two were involved in it?” asked the Senior Auror, turning to his assistant, who was holding the wands he'd confiscated from them, including Draco's.

“Two of the wands weren't used for anything special. Just standard everyday spells. But this one,” he shook Draco's wand a little, “this was the one it was all done with.”

“Clever. Leave your own wands 'clean' by doing everything with a stolen one. A commendable foresight, gentlemen.”

The Senior Auror stared straight at Sirius, and he heard Lucius swallow.

“We didn't...” Malfoy rasped out.

“Please, don't start, Mr Malfoy. You were taken at the scene, holding the wand which was used to shred into pieces two dozen innocent muggles, including children. Fancied bringing back your beloved master, did you?” The Auror spoke very calmly, but Sirius could have sworn the man was barely holding back his fury.

“We only got here five minutes ago!”

“You can tell that fairy tale to the Wizengamot, under Veritaserum and with the ministry-appointed Legilimens. You remember _him_ , don't you, Mr Malfoy?”

The Auror's smile made Sirius very ill at ease. Malfoy said nothing to this, but his breathing grew even more ragged. Sirius glanced sideways at him and saw a very real panic on his face.

“One thing I don't get: how did you drag Mr Black into this? Could it be that his imprisonment in Azkaban was justified after all? If I'm remembering it right, the proof of his innocence was extremely vague, it could've been contested...” The Auror spoke slowly and thoughtfully, as if talking to himself. He came closer and poked Malfoy's knee lightly with the toe of his boot. “I'm glad that I was the one to catch you, Mr Malfoy.”

Sirius looked to the side again to see Malfoy's reaction, but the other man lowered his head, hiding behind his long hair. Was that despair? But why—they really weren't guilty, these weren't the dark times of the early eighties, the Wizengamot would sort it all out. It was unpleasant, sure, but not a catastrophe. And then Sirius remembered: Draco. His heart turned over with sorrow and pain.

They were raised to their feet and led outside. One of the Aurors threw a thin chain with a Portkey over both their necks and activated it. In a moment they found themselves in a filthy blind alley, in front of a rusted door with a large padlock. Sirius recognised this place—it was the back entrance to the Auror Department. It was made especially for them, so that they wouldn't have to haul criminals through the Atrium and frighten the law-abiding citizens.

When the other Aurors popped up around them, the Senior Auror raised his wand, but he had no time to do anything—the silence around them was torn apart by the ratchet of a machine gun. Sirius had no idea how he managed it, but he was able to twist out of the grasp of the Auror who was holding him, threw himself at Malfoy, and tumbled him to the ground. The automatic round knocked chips out of the wall right above their heads. Malfoy jerked away and squirmed off to the side.

“What is that?” he asked hoarsely.

The Senior Auror was trying to cast shielding charms with his left hand; his bloodied right hand hung limply at his side.

“Muggle weapons. Fucking hell, why are they stalling?!”

One of the Aurors was making vain attempts to open the door, another was throwing jinxes in the direction of the shots, but the bullets seemed to be flying at them from all sides. And they didn't appear to be aimed only at the Aurors. Lucius crawled off into the shadow beneath a rubbish bin and was trying to wriggle out of his handcuffs. Uselessly, of course. Sirius followed him. Another round passed slightly above them, then quieted for a moment, stopped by a magical shield.

“Bruce, why the fuck are you poking around there?” growled the Senior Auror and spat loudly.

“It won't open! It's stuck!”

“Bombarda!” roared the Senior Auror.

Sirius felt a hand slip into his pocket—Lucius, still handcuffed, was yanking at the Invisibility Cloak.

“What are you up to?” Sirius whispered as he tried to stop him.

“I need to find Draco!”

“We'll find him...”

Sirius looked around quickly. He wasn't keen on running away from the Aurors and confirming their guilt. But he preferred another stint behind bars to the dismembered corpse of Draco Malfoy, which was exactly where things seemed to be headed. Malfoy somehow managed to smooth out the Cloak and got under it, hiding from both the attackers and the Aurors, only two of whom were still standing at that point. One had already sent a Patronus, which galloped off around the corner. He was now trying to immobilise their attackers. The other—the Senior Auror—was still maintaining the shield. They had no strength left to deal with him and Malfoy, but still, they needed to hurry, before the Auror reinforcements arrived. Sirius, as usual, transformed into Padfoot—the handcuffs rolled off his skinny paws—ran up to one of the wounded Aurors, and grabbed the wand which the man was still clutching in his hand.

Sirius's sense of smell told him that Malfoy was no longer at the spot where he'd left him. He was now making his way rather briskly to the alley's exit. Sirius bolted after him and dove under the Cloak. Malfoy halted, then saw the wand and hissed furiously:

“Free my hands.”

Sirius shook his head. First, they needed to Apparate away from here—even just to Grimmauld Place—and only then take any action, but how to explain this to Malfoy? In one movement he transformed back, in another—pulled Malfoy in and, with a quick whisper of “Hold on!”, Apparated home. He opened the door with a kick and dragged Malfoy inside, barely avoiding crashing to the floor.


End file.
